If you're expecting another chapter, sorry to say its not coming. I just did some minor edits.

I know what you're thinking. "Wryder! Update something useful!" Yeah, well, you get a random oneshot instead. Sorry. I have a ton of other chapters ready for my other stories, I'm just too lazy to update them. It takes time, okay!

I was just looking through Alex Rider fanfictions, and realized it's hard to find a good fic where Alex's school finds out about him. My mind, being itself, said I should write one and make it depressing. I wrote this. It's one of the most angsty things I've ever written, just so you know.

WARNING: Character death.

Disclaimer: Saying something funny here would ruin the mood... I don't own it.

Tom Harris looked around the lunch room. Children and teenagers alike sat at tables, eating and throwing food, talking with friends and neighbors. His eyes scanned the room again, looking hopefully for the brown head that would welcome him. But after a third look, Tom sighed and went to sit next to the other boys in his grade. There was nothing wrong with this spot; it was perfectly decent, and the boys were nice enough. But none of them were quite his best friend, who happened to have turned up absent all that week. Again.

His fork moved to pick at his food. At first, Alex's absences had seemed normal. His uncle, the man who raised him, had just died, and Alex was sure to need time to adjust and mourn. But when Alex returned, he was changed. He had scars on him, mentally and physically, that he refused to talk about. He looked world weary. He would leave school every few weeks due to "illness", but his housekeeper would never let Tom in to visit him. Rumors flew around school, saying Alex was a druggie, or worse, in a gang.

Then came the trip to Italy. Alex had been acting strange the whole while, ditching Tom twice in Venice, once overnight. On the train to Nepal, Alex had told Tom everything that had happened during the last few months, and Tom had believed him. Alex had left him at that point, cliff jumping into a pharmaceutical compound that had been blown sky high minutes later. That was over three weeks ago.

Tom hadn't heard a word from Alex since.

The food had lost all appeal. Thinking about his friend and how he could be dead had turned off Tom's apatite. Tom got and walked over to the trashcan below the wide screen TV that flashed school announcements, determined to toss the meatball sub.

The TV flickered. The announcements about lunch times changed color, flashed, and disappeared. Tom's gaze was drawn to the screen as one word scrolled across it.

SCORPIA.

The word caught Tom's eye. Hadn't Alex mentioned something about a SCORPIA? His mind looked back. Yes, he had. Something about a contract killer, too. The near constant chatter of the lunch room was quieting some, as a few students noticed the screen, but not by much.

"Your government has been hiding something."

The clamor quieted, and a Chinese man appeared on the screen. Tom looked at the screen in ernest. Perhaps he would learn something of Alex.

"Your government," continued the man, "has seen fit to employ a minor. In what? you ask. In Military Intelligence 6, my dear friends."

A sinking feeling filled the pit of Tom's stomach. 'That's Alex,' he thought sickly. He tried to back away, to go sit down, but his feet felt frozen to the spot, his eyes glued to the screen. All noise in the lunch room had ceased.

"My honest company lost ten million pounds from this boy." The Chinese man's voice remained erieely calm. "He single handedly killed over twenty innocent people for MI6. We have him in our custody now."

The screen changed as he was talking. On it now was a pristine room, devoid of anything save a light bulb bolted to the ceiling. There was no window, and no door as far as the angle would tell. Standing in the middle of said room was a boy, no older then fifteen. He was looking down at his clothes, a pair of short gray sweatpants and a simple gray shirt. Shaking his head, he looked up and scanned the room.

It was Alex.

Noise exploded into the room. A thousand voices, muttering, yelling, whispering one thing, joining in a single cacophony of one word. Alex. Every student there had recognized him. Tom's heart seemed to stop, then start pounding at almost an impossible rate. He took two steps backwards and collapsed onto a chair.

Alex looked unhealthy. His face was too tight, as if he hadn't've had food in days, and bruises littered every visible inch of skin. Angry red marks crisscrossed his arms, and he was bleeding from a gash on his cheek.

"To remind England why we aren't to be messed with, we must have the sad fortune to do the unspeakable."

Alex's eyes widened, and before he could react, a fine mist of red surrounded him. Blood bloomed from a hole in his chest, a pool of blood rapidly forming about it, some staining the virgin floor.

Screams broke out from places in the room. Tom felt as though a knife had been shoved into his own chest, as if he had taken the bullet, not Alex.

He watched in silence as the mist around Alex was more visible, as more and more bullets slammed into his friend. Alex's body jerked too and fro as the missiles hit, more and more red holes being shoved through his torso. Alex fell onto his knees, his eyes opening wide. A ghost of something- pain?- passed over his face, and he closed his eyes for the final time.

"No!"

The outburst was loud, and it took Tom a moment to realize it came from him. Only a few students looked at him, though, because screams and exclamations like his were spreading like wildfire.

"Alex Rider is no more. We ask that MI6 stop sending us double agents. It tends to end up very messy, and exploiting children is not a cause to be fought for."

The screen went black.

Tom felt dead. Alex was dead, and it was his fault.

"Dammit," he pushed through gritted teeth, punching the table. "I should have- Dammit!" The few kids from the younger years who had sat at the table looked at him in fright. He stood up and took off into the hallway. Alex was dead.

Tom only got as far as the Maths wing. He punched the wall, cursing when he pulled back a bleeding hand. "I should have-" He took a deep breath. "Stopped him, its my fault, stupid- spy- MI6- should have told me-" With every word he kicked the wall, until his foot sunk into it. Tom looked at it stupidly, then sank to the ground, his head on his knees.

"You okay?"

Tom looked up. There was James, hall pass in hand, his eyes darting in between the wall and Tom's hand.

"Did you not see?"

James shook his head. It didn't make sense. Every room had a TV, and they were all hooked up to the same network, so-

"Were you watching the TV?"

"No. Dalan unplugged it at the start of maths."

Tom took a deep breath. "Alex is dead."

"What?" James looked at Tom like he was crazy.

Tom explained in short, clipped sentences about Alex being a spy. "Don't believe me if you want, it's all true."

James shrugged. "Do how do you know he's dead?"

Tom shuddered. "He went to find some group called SCORPIA. The same group must've hacked the cable system to England or something, because..." His throat became very dry.

James laughed. "Dude. Convincing story."

"I'm not lying," Tom snapped. "I just watched my best friend get repeatedly shot and then die. Why would I lie?"

"Prove it, then." James was smug.

Tom stood up. "You'll see soon enough." With that, he yanked open an empty classroom door.

"-these words from the Prime Minister."

Words filtered from the small TV installed in the upper corner of the room. Tom and James looked up, only to see the Prime Minister on the screen.

"We regret the death of a child that was, unfortunately, aired for all of England to see. Rider was an agent for MI6, and a funeral will be held in due time. We ask that flags be raised at half mast to honor Alex Rider, who will be missed by this country for how many lives he saved during his service."

The TV flickered off.

"I told you," choked out Tom. "He never did drugs. He wasn't in a gang. Alex was blackmailed into helping MI6." Tom had to take another breath. "And it's my fault he's dead. I let SCORPIA find him."

James took one look at Tom, who was bleeding and half crazy. "Let's go find you someone who can patch that up."

Potted plants and Wii remotes are not appropriate things to throw at me. Rotten fruit and stuffed bunnies are, though. Just tell me in your review if you threw something at me, or cried, or hated it.

Review, it feeds the ever-hungry muse.

Wryder